Change is Coming
by Element Wolf
Summary: Their stories were once split into three parts: the Nazis, the Resistance, and the prisoners.  But now, with change and rebellion, their stories will merge into one.  Are they prepared? Characters based off of and from a PJO RP I own here on FF. His. WWII
1. Introduction

**Change Is Coming**

**Chapter One: Introduction**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Berlin, Germany, Late August 1944<strong>_

"Are you sure that it will be safe for my family there?" Newly appointed General of the Nazi Army, Marcel Becker, asked into his phone.

"Well . . . we can never be too certain with the Allies pushing farther into our ranks, but I am certain that Germany will not fall without a fight!" The man on the other end of the phone sounded so confident and vain that Marcel himself was _almost_ convinced just by his voice. Though _almost_ wasn't quite good enough.

"You do realize I will have a lot of family members coming with me, don't you?" Marcel asked, leaning back into his chair. "My wife, my four kids, my sister and her daughter . . . oh, and Laron, my brother that you wanted there. He will be staying with me, as will his daughter."

"Ahhh, you make a tough proposition, Becker," the man on the other end of the phone line said, seeming to be deliberating with himself. "But the mansion should be big enough for all of them, plus any … _visitors_ you might have."

Marcel frowned slightly. "These visitors won't put my family in danger, will they?"

"Oh no, no, of course not," the man said, seeming to be shaking his head from all the way in a foreign country. "They're just _friends_." However, Marcel wasn't entirely convinced. There was something amiss about the way the man had said 'friends'.

"If you say so, Weber, then it must be true," Marcel said, layering his voice with an alluring twist, enough to make 'Weber' believe that he was truly being honest, even though he didn't fully believe the man. "I'll come and be the new commander of Auschwitz."

"Excellent!" Weber exclaimed, sounding extremely pleased, by himself and Marcel's acceptance. "A fleet of cars will be by to pick you and your family up in three days. I'll see to it that you arrive safely and easily, despite some of the . . . _trouble_ happening in Warsaw right now."

"Yes, see to it that we don't arrive near Warsaw," Marcel said solemnly. "If we do, my time at Auschwitz is done and you will have to find another poor sap to take command there. It is a great duty to the _Fuhrer_, yet many people don't seem interested." The last bit was more of a question than a statement, hinted with a slight tone of mocking on Weber's behalf, but the other man simply sighed in agreement.

"Yes . . . many are afraid of the end of the war," Weber conceded, sounding somewhat disgusted. "Rotten cowards . . . afraid of the Allies and the Resistance . . . It's almost the same as being afraid of the Jews! I'm glad that you still have honor and nobility left in you, Becker."

"Oh trust me, I have a lot left," Marcel replied, a scowl seeming to override his voice.

"I know, Becker, that's why I came to you," Weber responded, though Marcel knew that he wasn't the first man to be offered the position. There was a slight pause before Weber continued. "I will see you when you arrive. Goodbye." And with that, he hung up his phone. Marcel sighed and hung his own phone in its place.

There was a light knock on his study door not a few seconds after he hung up, and Marcel sighed again. He just knew someone had been listening in. Time to see who it was.

"Come in," Marcel called, and began to rearrange the files on his desk, as if nothing important had happened over his phone call.

The door opened slowly, and Marcel's wife, Tabitha, entered the room. She truly was a beautiful woman, with tanned skin and soft, wavy black hair that fell down beneath her shoulders, showing the signs of her Italian heritage. She always wore the most lavish clothes she could find for herself, and was also normally adorned in the most stunning jewelry in Europe. Marcel couldn't help but smile at the sight of his wife.

"So . . . you heard?" He asked, looking up at her while organizing some of his files.

Tabitha nodded and strode elegantly to his desk, leaning on the edge as he continued his work. "Yes. You are the new commander at Auschwitz . . ."

Marcel nodded proudly. "Yes."

Tabitha pursed her lips, looking a bit troubled, and asked, "Why?"

"Why?" Marcel asked, baffled. "Because I will be doing a great duty to the _Fuhrer_! I have not lost my dignity, nor my honor, Tabitha."

Tabitha shook her head, looking down at her perfectly manicured hands. "I know that, dear . . . but … the children . . . you are putting them in danger."

"Nonsense." Marcel shook his head. "One of the officers there, Weber, whom I have known for a long time, assured me that our family would be safe. You, me, Julian, Rose, Marc, Tony . . . Lillian and Rebekka . . . as well as Laron and Aly. This is a great opportunity, Tabitha, a great opportunity indeed!"

"And a dangerous one," Tabitha stated pensively. "Marcel, both you and I have heard of the rebellion in Warsaw . . ."

Marcel dismissed her comment with an aloof wave. "Tabitha . . . I am pretty confident that they are losing. And even so, they would not be able to recapture Auschwitz for quite a while. They just need a commander there that they can trust will get the job done, and get it done right."

"But . . . Marcel . . ." Tabitha said quietly, her soft Italian accent seeming to flare up a little on his name. She pursed her lips when Marcel stood up and rounded the desk, putting his arm around her shoulders.

"Trust me, Tabitha, we'll be fine," he attested, squeezing her. "I promise."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Polish Countryside, Late August 1944<strong>_

The name Aleksander Kaminski was a name that served only one purpose: to be a hidden identity. The names Michal Kaminski, Anka Kaminski, Lukasz Berka, and Klaudia Berka also served the same purpose. All five were _fake_ people, but the names and the papers for them were important. They were for protection, for security and peace of mind. Just one thing to make the five who were hiding behind the names feel a bit safer.

But these names were no longer needed.

Emile Charbonneaux, the man shadowed behind the name Aleksander Kaminski, was a resistance fighter. He fought for freedom and liberty, for the countries of Europe, and for the people in it. Emile saw things that others didn't see, and he had something that most people in Europe seemed to be faint of: a heart. A large, pulsing, living hear that would never stop beating until the fight was over; and even if it had to, the spirit behind it would live on and still help win the battles until the war was over. Emile's wife, Lisette, was the woman behind the Anka Kaminski. She was a kind-hearted, yet strong woman, who wasn't one to back down until the job was done, either. Remy, hidden behind the false image of Michal Kaminski, was their adopted son. Lukasz Berka was Emile's younger brother Luc, and Klaudia was his wife, Denise. They fought for justice and freedom, in hopes of seeing that, one day, Europe would be independent from the hands of Nazi Germany again, and a strong continent with notable people once more.

The Charbonneaux family came from France, and had been doing a great deal of resistance against the Nazis since the war had started. They had aided in letting the Allies through Normandy and had been there when the Allies had liberated France from Germany. Nobody seemed prouder that day than Emile and his family.

However, despite the fact that France was liberated and the French Resistance was basically over, Emile knew he had to do more to help Europe as a whole. He had heard about the possible rebellion in Poland from sources inside the Resistance, and so, had packed up his bags – and a few members of his family – and had left for the German-occupied country.

The Charbonneauxs had stayed in Warsaw for nearly three months, since the middle of June, under the guises of Aleksander, Anka, Michal, Lukasz, and Klaudia. They had immediately began work with the Polish Resistance, and soon created a decently sized department of their own. Then the Warsaw Uprising had started. It was nearly a month later now, and the citizens of Warsaw were losing. Emile knew that he needed to get his family out of the city, though their fight wasn't over in Poland. With the help of the underground, they were smuggled out of the city and started their journey farther inland. They were finally going to help the Jews in the concentration camps. Emile couldn't help be feel a tiny ounce of pride.

"Here we are, our new papers," Emile said a day into their journey, pulling out a thick stack of papers from his satchel. They had hitched a ride, free of charge, farther into the country, that would drop them off about ten miles from Auschwitz. Of course, cattle cars didn't smell all that well, nor were they comfortable. But at least the five had food and water with them, blankets to keep out the cool from the night, and a roof over their head when they got to their destination.

"What are our names this time?" Remy asked with a grin as he was handed his own from the top of the stack. He tilted his head slightly as he looked down at it. "Jakub Winski . . . that's a funny way to spell it, _Père_."

"That's a Polish way of spelling it," Emile said with a small smirk as he handed his wife her papers. "_Tak_?"

Remy grinned a bit at the Polish word for 'yes'. Heck yes he had picked up more than a little Polish. It was quite necessary. "_Tak_."

"Zofia . . ." Lisette mused while she studied her papers. "I believe that I like that better than Anka."

"Personally I liked Lukasz better than Stefan . . . at least I could still be called 'Luk'," Luc added, frowning slightly.

"And I liked Klaudia much better than Beata . . . but you did a fantastic job, yet again, Emile," Denise complimented her brother-in law, smiling a bit at him.

"Oh, I didn't do it . . ." Emile said, frowning slightly as he felt a compliment wasted. He liked compliments. "One of the Polish members did . . . but they are good nonetheless."

Lisette nodded. "That they are." She leaned into her husband's side and sighed. "I do hope we get there soon, I'm starting to ache."

"Oh, don't worry, we'll get there soon . . . and then the _real_ fun begins." Emile grinned, feeling a light sensation rise in his stomach. He was ready for this. Ready for one more chance to get back at those vile Nazi bastards.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Auschwitz, Poland, Monowitz Concentration Camp (Auschwitz III), Late August 1944<strong>_

_In the Family Barrack . . ._

What would you say to your children if you knew that it was the last time you were going to get to see them? Would you tell them that everything would be alright, that they would have to watch out for each other? Or would you tell the oldest that it was his duty to watch after the youngest? Would you give them hugs and kisses and say goodbye?

Raisel Cohen would never get the chance to say goodbye to her children. She could hear the ringing of her daughter's screams as she was being forcefully pulled out of the barrack by two Nazi soldiers. Never would she be able to tell her daughter goodbye, and instruct her to stay with and listen to her brother through everything, put her complete trust in him and to whatever he told her to do. Never would she be able to hug either of her children again, and tell them that they'd make it through one more day, one more night. Never would she be able to promise them that they would make it out alive; that was a lie now. But she wasn't ashamed that she had told them that; it had kept their spirits up. She knew that both of her children had strong hearts and strong spirits. But as Raisel was being roughly hauled out of the barrack, she had to wonder if both of her children would have enough will to survive after she was gone.

Anna Cohen was Raisel's six-year-old daughter. She was a sweet girl with light grey eyes that still sparkled with the innocence and cheerfulness of the child that she should have been. Though her hair was now shaved off and her body was emaciated, she still had the angelic features of an adorable child, even some of the Nazis seemed to soften around here. But of course, these were the older ones, the ones who probably had children of their own. The younger ones didn't see anything beside the fact that she was "the daughter of two filthy, lousy Jews", and a Jew herself.

Currently, Anna was in a state of shock and sorrow. Her mother had been taken away from her in front of her very own eyes. To where? She didn't exactly know. But when someone was taken away, they never came back. Ever.

Several women and other children looked on as Anna laid down on the cot that she and her mother shared with another family. The other family was gone right now, working somewhere. There was a mother and a little boy a year older than Anna, and a girl a year younger. Anna and the little girl had made friends, talking quietly to each other while others settled down for bed around them, or ate their food rations in silence. But Anna liked the other little girl, Miriam. They were good friends.

After sobbing quietly to herself for a few minutes, Anna felt strong, firm arms wrap themselves around her. At first she tensed, but when she looked up through glassy eyes, she saw her older brother, Asher.

At sixteen, Asher was too old to stay in the family barrack with his mother and sister,and stayed with other men that were chosen for forced labor in the men's barracks. Asher came to see his mother and sister as often as he could, which at the worst points, was once a week, and at the best points, once every day. He used to be a very strong, fit boy, but was now the picture of every Jew in the camp: skinny, beaten, and worn out. Despite this, he was still strong, one of the reasons that Nazis had chosen him for work. He was fit enough for labor. And to Anna, he was just about the strongest person in the world.

"Asher, t-they took _Ima_ a-away . . ." Anna spluttered, sobbing into her older brother's shoulder.

"Shh, shh, I know, _akhot ktana_," Asher whispered into her ear, hugging her close to his thin chest. Normally, he was cold and guarded, not open to anyone. But for his family, especially his little sister, he broke down his walls and allowed himself to be sensitive. "It will be alright, just be quiet now."

"B-but they t-took her a-away . . ." Anna murmured into his chest, sniffling. "She said she'd never leave."

"It wasn't her choice," Asher replied, biting his lip.

"B-but . . . w-w-why did she have to leave?" Anna asked him, whimpering softly.

"Because," Asher said, hugging her just a bit closer. "One person can't defeat the Nazis."

* * *

><p><em>In the Women's Barracks . . .<em>

Most of the prisoners of Auschwitz were Jewish; some were Roma or Sinti, most often called 'gypsies', or homosexuals, or Jehovah's Witnesses, and even communists and prisoners of war. Dorothea Kirsch was a special case. She had fallen in love with a Jewish man named Elijah Levy, and so, when Elijah's family was threatened to be deported in 1943, Dorothea and her father had hidden Elijah and his family in their home. However, in January of 1944, Nazis had raided the Kirsch family home and taken Dorothea, her father, Elijah, and Elijah's family into custody, and sent them in crude cattle cars to Auschwitz. But of course, everyone had their story.

Shiri Mencher was no exception. She was a strong, tough girl of sixteen, with an independent attitude and a kind heart. She had lived eleven years in happiness, until the Nazis had taken over Poland. A year later, Shiri and her family were moved into the Warsaw Ghetto. Conditions were terrible, though the family had managed to stay alive, sometimes with Shiri's plain devotion to life. When the deportations to the Treblinka killing center had started, Shiri had escaped the Warsaw Ghetto with her four siblings, Rivka, Josef, Talia, and Lavi. After escaping the city of Warsaw, they had been taken in by two members of the Resistance. Though in January of 1944, they, like Dorothea, were caught and taken to Auschwitz. Shiri was separated from her brothers, the youngest of whom was killed. The other was later killed as well. Shiri's youngest sister, Talia, was also taken upon arrival, and died. However, Shiri and Rivka, separated by two years, managed to stay together, and still were together, though Rivka was much more worn down than her sister. The only reason they were alive was because they had each other to hold on to.

Sometimes, Shiri found herself gazing across the barracks, scanning the cramped room. She many many kinds of people, mostly all Jewish women. Most of them were the walking dead. But some of them still had a light in their eyes. Shiri often saw that in Dorothea's eyes. She knew that the young woman, older than herself, still had a spark in her. She had survived here as long as Shiri had. In fact, they had arrived on the same day.

Dorothea and Shiri had held quiet conversations a few times, each knew just a bit about the other's life. It made both of them feel a bit better inside to talk to someone else, for a change. It never showed, though. Sometimes, just to show a little kindness and sympathy, Shiri would look over at Dorothea, and smile. Dorothea would receive the message and smile back. Though the smiles were weak, they were genuine. And that's what felt good about them.

One thing was for certain: Neither Dorothea Kirsch, nor Shiri Mencher, were willing to give up the fight just yet.

* * *

><p><em>In the Men's Barracks . . .<em>

Jacob Niewinksi was a Jew. Rollin Boyd was not.

Though Rollin pretended to be, he was not Jewish. He was an American soldier. He had slunk behind enemy lines to help the resistance, and bring back information from them to the US Army. However, Rollin had, on one of these missions with a few other American soldiers, volunteered to go undercover at Auschwitz concentration camp, as a young Jewish man by the name of Chayyim Lehrer. Rollin was fluent in German and could even master an accent, so he was only all too perfect for the job. However, under the 'brave' and 'honorable' roll that he had taken, Rollin was cocky. He wanted to be respected, and he wanted people to remember him as a hero.

Thus was not the case anymore.

Sure, it would be great to be flaunted upon by many people and rewarded for all he had done, but Rollin, as of now, had a hard life. He wasn't sure if he would have rather of been fit and in a battle, or hiding out in a concentration camp, getting secret information from within the Nazis' borders. Each was just as honorable as the other.

Jacob was a true and pure Jewish boy of sixteen. He and his family had lived in a ghetto in southern Poland before being deported to Auschwitz, where his mother and little sister, Nevaeh, were killed almost on arrival. His father had died from exhaustion and heat later on. Jacob didn't have many other family members, and wherever they were, he was sure it was some deep, cold hole in the ground.

Rollin and Jacob were almost nothing alike. In fact, they had never even talked to each other. But they, like the other people in Monowitz, were survivors. They would mostly likely see the end of the war, just because of their brave and strong nature. Both would be survivors, they would live through Auschwitz and move on, but they might not even tell their stories to others once they got out. It was very emotional business, of course, but their stories were worth telling.

The problem was, would either of them be able to tell it?

* * *

><p>Marcel, Tabitha, Julian, Rose, Marc, Rebekka, Aly, Lillian, Laron, Emile, Lisette, Remy, Luc, Denise, Asher, Anna, Dorothea, Shiri, Rollin, and Jacob.<p>

The war had transformed all of their lives. Some for the better, some for the worse. But in the near future, the person behind each name would be altered. They would no longer be three separated stories, but one new story all rolled into one. They would meet the others, see the real person behind the mask.

Change was coming.

But would they be willing to accept it?

* * *

><p><strong>I just want to give you translations:<strong>

** Fuhrer – Basically referring to Hitler, it means "leader" in German**

** Père – "Father" in French**

** Tak - "Yes" in Polish . . . if you didn't get that already. ;)**

** Ima – "Mother" in Hebrew**

**Akhot ktana – "Little sister" in Hebrew**

** I hope I got all of these translations correct, because I had at two or three sources for each . . . ****XP**


	2. For the Benefit of the Family

**Chapter Two: For the Benefit of the Family**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Auschwitz, Poland, Early September 6th, 1944<strong>_

_Marcel Becker's House, Outside of Monowitz Concentration Camp . . ._

Aly Becker sighed as she tacked up yet another poster on her wall. She and Rebekka, her cousin, who was around the same age as her, shared a room together. Aly scowled slightly at the thought of her other cousin, Rose. Rose had gotten her own room. It wasn't exactly fair, but of course, Rose was Marcel's daughter, and since this was Marcel's house, Rose got the best.

Rebekka Weiss sat on the opposite side of the room, at the little desk that she had set up. It was both for studying purposes, and for beautifying herself. Of course, Aly would use it to. They shared a room, they shared a closet, and they shared a desk. Fair enough.

Currently, Rebekka was doing up her short, curly red hair into a small bun. Her bangs were held back, but long, curly pieces of hair still hung down around her face, giving her an innocent and grown up look at the same time. Her light make-up was already done as she stood up from the chair before the desk and turned to Aly.

"Are you looking forward to today?" Rebekka asked, smiling as she pinned the last stray strand of hair to her head.

Aly shrugged, glancing back at her with an expression that showed no particular interest. "Why should I be?"

Rebekka shrugged, smiling a bit more. "It's our first official day here, and, I don't know, I just thought …"

Aly shook her head, sliding down off of her bed. "No, it won't be anything fun, since we're probably just going to be cooped up all day inside, baking cookies with Tabitha and your mother, or something." She rolled her eyes and walked over to the desk, where she began to lightly dab her eyes with make-up in front of the mirror.

"I suppose you are right . . . but still. I like the feeling of being in a new place. I've only been out of Germany a handful of times in my life . . . once to France, once to Austria, and two times to Italy when we went to visit Tabitha's family." Rebekka sighed. "But most of those were when we were younger."

"Yes, with the war going on we can't travel around much," Aly said bluntly.

Rebekka sighed again and was silent for a moment, then sat on her bed and looked at Aly thoughtfully. "So you don't think they'll let us outside?"

Aly shook her head, and applied a light colored lipstick to her lips before answering. "No, I don't think they will . . . they're worrying too much about the Soviets advancing into Poland to let us go outside, or at least, out of the gates of the house."

"But Warsaw hasn't even been taken, yet . . ." Rebekka said, frowning ever so slightly.

Aly shook her head. "No . . . but Marcel said that the people in Warsaw were close to capturing the city . . . they are not going to win because they have barely any military aid."

Rebekka looked at her curiously. "When did he say that?"

"Last night," Aly replied, quickly glancing at her before looking back at the mirror, beginning to do her hair since her make-up was finished. "I overheard him talking to Tabitha, Laron, and Lillian about it . . ."

"How can he be sure?" Rebekka asked.

Aly shrugged. "I don't know .. . but you know Marcel and his ways. He's good at predicting that kind of stuff."

Rebekka nodded silently and laid down on her bed. She stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes, while waiting for Aly to be done, so that they could go down for breakfast. Finally, the other girl put her brush down and Rebekka sat up.

"Are you ready?"

Aly nodded. "Yes . . . let's go see what we're having today."

The meal was a classic Italian breakfast, made by Tabitha herself. Though Tabitha had a cook to do the cooking for her, she sometimes took it on as a hobby, and cooked for the family herself. When big meals were made, perhaps when they had an important visitor, Tabitha might help cook the main dish, but would leave the rest up to the servants.

Breakfast was quite dull, with just side conversations, but no big talk. Before everyone was even finished eating, there was a knock on the front door. Marcel glanced up, then around the table, and stood up. He walked into the foyer and answered the door, coming back a few minutes later to put his uniform jacket on.

"I have to be going now, work to do," he said with a smile, kissing Tabitha on the lips as he passed her. He ruffled Tony's hair and planted a kiss on the top of his head, and also hugged and kissed Rose as he passed them by.

As soon as Marcel exited the kitchen and the house, everyone started to finish up their meals. There was a bit more chatter, particularly amongst Aly, Rose, and Rebekka, the teenaged girls in the room. They all helped clean up the table and wash the dishes, though they wouldn't have to do chores like that much longer, for they were about to get several new servants to attend to their every need.

* * *

><p><em>Inside Monowitz Concentration Camp . . .<em>

"You kept them waiting for _me_?" Marcel asked the soldier known as Conrad Weber as they walked along the camp grounds, along with a few other Nazis, to the prisoner barracks. The Nazi general was clearly amused, and a prominent smirk curling the edges of his lips.

Weber nodded. "Yes, of course, general. I thought you might want to get a glimpse of our daily routine."

Marcel glanced down at the other man, who was quite a bit shorter than him. "I've heard about it."

"But I thought you'd like to see it on your first day," Weber replied hastily with a fervent nod of his head.

Marcel had to be impressed with the man's enthusiasm. It must of just been the presence of a new general that was making him so earnest. He was a short, pudgy man, with a rotund belly and a double chin. His face always seemed a little redder than normal, and his eyes were small, black dots on his face. Weber had to of been wanting to impress the new commander.

"Well then, show me the routine," Marcel replied as they got closer to the barracks. "And also, Weber . . . would it be possible for me to pick out some of them as personal . . . servants, you might say?" He paused for a moment. "Personal _slaves_?"

Weber nodded, a disgustingly delightful smile spreading across his face. "Yes, of course! Old Commander Kaiser did the exact same thing! Pity the poor man had to die . . . we never did find the culprit . . ."

Marcel waved a dismissive hand. "Well, it's over and done with now. The criminal will hopefully find his justice." Though, secretly, he was greedy enough to not care about Commander Kaiser. Kaiser was long gone, and Marcel had taken his place, an important one among concentration camps. He felt no remorse for the dead commander.

"Stand up straight, you Jewish swine, the commander is coming!" One of the other men walking with Marcel and Weber shouted at the prisoners as the Nazis approached them. The prisoners seemed to flinch as one and stood up as straight as they could muster.

Marcel examined the many rows and rows of prisoners, immediately deciding on a terrible fate for some of them. There was another transport coming in today, and quite frankly, there were too many prisoners here. He'd have to eliminate a whole barrack or two. Not that Marcel felt any shame for what he was thinking; on the contrary, he thought of the people before him as filth, and wanted to eventually get rid of them all.

The commander was also searching for possible candidates to be his servants. Of course, those prisoners would have to always be a little cleaner than the others to be in his house. He would make sure that they washed themselves a little with a rag before they entered his house every morning to do work.

Marcel walked down the first row of prisoners, then the second, then the third, seeming to examine them thoroughly as one of the soldiers from the group of Nazis began the role call in the front of the group, and another in the back. Men were in the front, and women were in the back. If it were up to him, he would have split them up.

The Nazi general walked back to the women's section of the role call lines and roughly pulled a few of the still undoubtedly most prettiest girls out of the group. As long as he was going to have prisoners for servants, they might as well look the best that they could. Marcel stopped short near the end of the rows of prisoners, and frowned slightly. Children. Why were there some children? He glanced back at Weber and walked toward him.

The other man looked up as Marcel approached. "Yes? Is something wrong, general?"

"Why are there children?" Marcel asked, narrowing his eyebrows.

"Oh, those . . . they come from the Theresienstadt Ghetto . . . they're possible candidates for Mengele's experiments," Weber explained. "No worries, they stay in a family barrack, we kill some every week, and not all stay there upon arrival."

Marcel nodded curtly and walked back over to the rows of prisoners. He began to analyze the children, who looked positively frightened to be in is presence. All of them stared down at their worn, dirty shoes as he passed, some even shaking slightly. Marcel stopped in front of young child, who seemed to have no parents around her like the others. He could tell that she was a girl, for she had feminine, even angelic, features about her, even though her hair was shaved like all of the people around her.

"You, what's your name?" He demanded, gazing down at her.

The girl flinched slightly, but didn't dare glance up at him, and asked quietly, "Mine?"

"Yes, girl, yours!" Marcel shouted harshly, causing the little girl to flinch again.

"Anna," she answered softly, shaking ever so slightly as Marcel bent down next to her, attempting to look her in the eye.

"Anna what?"

"Anna Cohen," she whispered, shaking and practically on the verge of tears.

Marcel laughed sharply. "Such a Jewish name . . . where are your parents, Anna?"

Anna hesitated, and then mumbled, "Dead."

Marcel stood up, showing no sensitivity toward her whatsoever. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and shoved her out of the line, towards the women that he had chosen as servants. Marcel stood before them and glanced around at them, wondering if four was enough for his personal needs. Maybe two more . . . two young men that could do any hard stuff he wouldn't be able to do himself.

"Two young men . . . yes . . ." Marcel mused as he turned back to the rows of prisoners.

"What about my brother?" Anna blurted, before she could stop herself. She immediately regretted her decision, as Marcel whirled on her and stalked toward her, bending down and giving her a sickly sweet smile.

"What was that?"

"My . . . brother . . ." Anna mumbled, looking dejectedly down at her feet, fearing that he would hit her. Instead, Marcel simply stood up, though it still made Anna flinch.

"What's his number?"

Anna had memorized the numbers written across her arm on the day that they were tattooed there. A few days after, she had also memorized the numbers that were on her mother's and brother's arms. So she recited her brother's number with perfect accuracy.

Marcel glanced around, then loudly called the number out to the crowd of prisoners. He commanded that whoever retained the number step forward and come to him. After a few seconds of tense silence, a tall boy, looking to be in his middle-teenaged years, stepped out from his row and began to walk toward Marcel. He kept his head down, so his expression wasn't quite clear, but Marcel guessed that he had to be scared.

The general tugged a gun out of his belt as Asher walked closer, and when the boy was close enough, Marcel pressed the barrel of the gun to his head. The little girl, Anna, gasped from behind them and rushed forward, but one of the Nazi soldiers that had moved to Marcel's right, kicked her in the face and sent her tumbling backwards. Anna, seeming ever the strong one, staggered back onto her feet, but didn't attempt to move forward any further. She glanced up at the Nazi who had kicked her, then looked back to Marcel and her brother, unable to contain a small whimper from escaping her lips.

"And what is your name?" Marcel asked, a cold sort of tone to his voice.

"Asher," the teenager answered softly, staring down at the ground instead of the gun barrel pressed to his forehead.

"Please don't kill my brother!" Anna screamed from behind them, earning herself another kick to the face by the Nazi guard standing by her. She yelped and fell to the ground, then scooted several inches away from him and stood up again, this time knowing to bite her tongue.

"I should, shouldn't I . . . ?" Marcel said with a cruel smirk, turning his sentence into a deceptive question. Asher, of course, didn't replied, and was still staring at the ground.

"But I won't," Marcel sighed and stowed his gun away, causing Asher to actually look at him, surprise consuming his expression. He looked back down when Marcel looked at him with another smirk. "Not yet, anyway." Marcel grabbed Asher by the collar of his disheveled out prisoner's uniform and roughly pushed him into the line with the women and Anna.

Anna dashed forward to hug him, but then glanced at the Nazi guard, who smiled wickedly at her, though didn't make a movie to kick her again. She stopped, and then stepped into the line with the women. Asher joined her and stood by her side, wishing that he could have hugged her, but he wasn't sure what the guards would do if he did.

Marcel pulled another tall, fit young man from the group of prisoners, and then gave the order to Weber to start the usual work routine. The stout man nodded and began ordering the prisoners to their work stations. While he did so, Marcel looked down at his new servants. Yes . . . they were going to be good.

* * *

><p><em>Marcel Becker's House, Outside of Monowitz Concentration Camp . . .<em>

Nearly an hour later, Marcel arrived at his house again, his new slaves trailing in behind him. He had explained what a lot of their duties would be, cooking, cleaning, doing yard work . . . those kinds of things. They entered by way of the back door, to the little covered porch before the kitchen. Marcel disappeared for a few minutes, before reappearing with a bucket full of cold water, and six rags. He instructed the prisoners to rag themselves down before entering the house, and they did so.

Finally, when Marcel had deemed them all clean enough, he led them into the kitchen. It was empty, nobody inside, so Marcel began to inform the servants of their tasks for that day. Asher was sent with the other young man and one of the teenaged girls to do yard work ion the front of the house, while Anna and the other two girls were told to work inside. First, they would dust every room, then come back down to the kitchen and make lunch for the family, while being instructed and overseen by his wife, whom they were only to refer to as "ma'am". After that, she would inform them of the rest of their duties.

The prisoners were sent to work immediately. Asher, the other male prisoner, Gabriel, and one of the girl prisoners, Eva, went out to the front yard and began to work. Anna and the two older girls, Anetka and Lucie, began to dust inside the house. However, Anna was given the least amount of work, and was done within a half hour. She stood in the hallway for a minute, listening to the distant sounds of laughter and chatter, then made her way back down to the kitchen. When she realized nobody was there, she went back into the dining room and dusted it over again, even though Lucie had already dusted it, just to make it look like she still had work to do.

Upstairs, in the sitting room, the children of the household were having a great time. They were the ones that Anna heard chatting and laughing.

Rose was seated in between her brothers Julian and Marc on one of the couches. There other brother, the only child of Marcel's that was also Tabitha's child, Tony, was sitting on the ground in front of the couch. Tony was only five-years-old, and so received the bottom barrel of everything. But he didn't mind all that much. He just loved being able to be with the older kids, because a lot of the times, if they weren't playing with him, they would shoo him away and tell him to do something else. Aly and Rebekka were lounging on chairs not to far away from the couch.

"Did you see that Father brought home some Jews to work for us?" Rose asked with a smirk, glancing around at her brothers and cousins.

Julian smirked. "Yes, I noticed. Some of them are cleaning the front yard right now . . . I also saw some dusting out in the hallway."

Rose made a face. "With their kind of filth, they're going to have to dust the house over again after they've dusted it once, because they'll make it even more dirty!" She sighed exasperatedly. "Honestly, I don't know why Father just couldn't have gotten _normal_ servants for us. Servants that we couldn't get diseases from." She snorted.

Julian snickered. "Yes, well . . . Father was looking for cheap labor, I guess. The possibility of getting a disease is just a risk he supposed we'd have to take."

Aly frowned slightly and grabbed a book from the small table beside the couch, opening it to read, even though she knew that she had already read it before. She didn't want any part of this conversation. Unlike most of her family members, Aly didn't _despise_ Jews. She didn't really despise anyone for their race, just their attitude, as she disliked Julian and Rose right now. Instead of joining the conversation, she pretended as if the Jews didn't even take her energy to talk about.

"Yes . . . I hope they won't be cooking our food," Rose remarked, scrunching up her nose. "You know how disgusting that would be?"

Marc, who had been silent for the conversation thus far, spoke up. "Oh yes, that would be disgusting . . . I don't want bugs or anything in my food."

Julian nodded, smirking slightly. "Or get ill from it. If Father is going to make them cook for us, he better make them clean up first."

Rose nodded. "Definitely." She glanced over at Aly, and then to Rebekka, both of whom had been completely silent during the conversation. "Aly, Rebekka, you alright? You haven't talked much."

"I just don't want to talk about vermin being in my food." Rebekka shrugged as she looked up at the three siblings. Truthfully, like Aly, she didn't have a particular loathing for the Jews, or anyone, for that matter. She would have just preferred to leave them alone.

"Oh, well . . . yes, I guess it is quite nasty," Rose agreed, and then continued as she apparently didn't get Rebekka's to drop the subject. "What do you suppose they look like? I mean, I really haven't seen them yet."

Julian shrugged. "I saw them out in the yard when I was coming up here . . . there are more, though. About five or six, only three of them are in the yard. They're like . . . filthy and bald. Father said that Jews get shaved when they come to the camp so that they don't get lice, or something."

Marc blinked. "Really? Why would they care if Jews got lice?"

"Because, oh intelligent twin," Rose said with a grin, "Father and his honorable men don't want to get lice from the Jews! It is almost as bad as getting a disease from them! So they might as well just avoid it altogether."

"Oh . . . yes, that makes sense," Marc admitted with a somewhat sheepish smile.

"Do you suppose they'll try to steal our money?" Rose asked, referring to the popular stereotype that Jewish people were greedy people, people that deceived other people to get money.

"They have no way of using it," Rebekka blurted, for the first time since she tried to end the conversation. Rose, Julian, and Marc stared at her, and she turned a little bit red while trying to recover her blunder. "I mean, no offense, but . . . wouldn't it be stupid for them to try and steal anything if they're just going to end up back in that camp at the end of the day?"

Julian shrugged, looking to think about the question for a minute. "Well . . . Jews are stupid. And greedy. I don't think they care. They just like to steal. They want to get money, maybe they think they can buy their way out with the Nazis." He snorted, leaning back into the couch. "Which is stupid, because Father and his soldiers are too noble to fall for something like that."

"Well . . . I suppose you may be right," Rebekka muttered, looking down at her hands. Sometimes she didn't know how the siblings could chatter on and on about how terrible Jews were, when she knew for a fact that the Nazis were killing them. That Marcel and Laron were killing them. Her father was a part of the German army, but he was fighting in the West against the Allies. If he didn't send Rebekka and her mother Lillian a letter every month, they began to get worried that he had died. They dreaded the day that somebody would call on the telephone and give them the bad news that he had died. Though Rebekka didn't exactly agree with the Nazis and their perspective on Jews, she still loved her father, who didn't specifically hate Jews himself. He was just doing his duty for his country.

"Can we _please_ talk about something else?" Aly pleaded, looking between her family members. "I don't want to talk about people coming and stealing my money or filthy Jews coming to make my food for me." It almost hurt her to put the adjective 'filthy' in front of the word 'Jews', but she had to keep her act up, otherwise the others would get suspicious of her true beliefs.

Julian shrugged and began chatting to Marc about sports, a topic with which the girls didn't really care about. So they began to talk about something else. And, gradually, the conversations turned back to good, fun ones, with laughter and everybody feeling comfortable with them.

* * *

><p>After they had dusted everywhere they possibly could have in the house, Lucie and Anetka also made their way down to the kitchen. When they entered they walked over to Anna and stood on either side of her, then the three of them waited for the commander's wife to come to the kitchen.<p>

Not two minutes later, Tabitha arrived in the kitchen, adorned in a dark turquoise top and a brown skirt. Though simple, the outfit was crisp and clean, and did the Italian woman justice. She examined the three prisoners, her eyes lingering on the little girl for a few seconds longer than she intended them to. Tabitha pursed her lips and shook her head, then turned and got a recipe out of a cupboard.

As Tabitha began to instruct the girls on what to do, she knew that she might have a hard time finding something for the little girl to do. So, she saved her for last. When Anetka and Lucie had their jobs and were working, Tabitha finally looked to the little girl, who turned her gaze to the ground.

"You go set the table," Tabitha instructed the young girl, who nodded wordlessly. "The plates, glasses, and silverware are over there." She pointed to the area of the kitchen were all of the utensils, cups, and plates were. "Don't break them." Even though Tabitha tried to sound stern, her voice was soft, as if she was talking to her own child. She, like Aly and Rebekka, didn't particularly hate the Jews like her husband. And she _definitely_ didn't hate the children. Once a mother, always a mother. Tabitha couldn't even bring herself to despise the older ones, the teenagers. They reminded her of beaten, dirty, almost helpless versions of the teenagers that were in the sitting room upstairs. What _they_ or younger children could have possibly done wrong, Tabitha didn't know.

Anna shuffled off to set the table, and ten minutes later, was back in the kitchen, ready for Tabitha to give her something else to do. Tabitha simply gave her a pile of napkins and told her to fold them and set them on the table, but soon enough, she was also done with that, too. After that, when the lunch was just being put in the oven to bake, Tabitha instructed her to fill all of the glasses with water, and so Anna did so, being very careful not to spill a single drop on the table.

Everything was finished cooking by the time that Rose, Julian, Marc, Rebekka, Aly, Tony, and Rebekka's mother Lillian came down for lunch. Anetka and Lucie dished out their food as Tabitha sat at the end of the table, wondering if her husband would be home for lunch.

The occupants of the table began conversing quietly, ignoring the servants that stood at the edges of the dining room, waiting for any instructions that they might have been given. Julian did, however, comment on how he hoped he wouldn't get sick from the meal because dirty Jewish prisoners had helped cook it, and Tabitha snapped at him, assuring him that they had all washed up before they had even entered the house that morning.

Once lunch was finished, Marcel hadn't returned, and so Tabitha assumed that he wasn't going to be home for lunch, but she saved a small portion of the meal just in case. Anetka, Lucie, and Anna cleared the table, then all began working on cleaning the dishes. Anetka washed them, Lucie dried them, and Anna put them back in their place. Finally, when that was over and done with, they turned to Tabitha for her commands. The Italian thought about it for a minute, and then set them to work around the house. Since the house was new, there wasn't much work that needed to be done, but Tabitha found something for all of them to do, anyway.

Later that day, after the servants had helped prepare supper, a few Nazis stopped by the house and took them back to the camp. Tabitha, Rebekka, and Aly still couldn't help but feel sorry for them, even if they would never show it or admit it. Jews, in the eyes of the Nazis, were supposed to be subhuman filth. However, not everybody thought of them as so. The three couldn't help but think that what their loved ones were doing was wrong; but they were too scared to turn on their family for the benefit of others.


	3. Concealed Truths

**Chapter Three: Concealed Truths**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Auschwitz, Poland, September 12th,1944<strong>_

_Annika Kaiser's House, Outside of Monowitz Concentration Camp to the West . . ._

Even though Annika Kaiser was the daughter of a deceased Nazi general, she did not share the Nazis idea of "pureness". She, of course, hadn't been happy when her father was killed by a murderer, because he had raised her for her whole life, but she had felt that a huge weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. Now, she would no longer have to keep her work with the resistance as secretive as before. So, when she heard that some members of the resistance needed a place to stay near Auschwitz, she had jumped at the chance to help them. Arrangements had been made through secret messages. The resistance members, Emile Charbonneaux and four members of his family, were to come to Auschwitz in late August and disguise themselves as servants. They would work as servants, cleaning the house and the other chores, as long as Annika fired the other servants. And so she did.

Annika liked being the the midst of such pristine resistance workers. The five of them had come from France after helping the French Resistance in giving the Allies a passage into Normandy. Then, feeling that their work was done in France, they had departed to Poland under false identities and worked among the Polish Resistance, staying for half of the Warsaw Uprising. Again, they retreated, this time to the countryside, to Auschwitz, which was home to many deadly concentration camps.

The Charbonneauxs had been at Annika's house for nearly two and a half weeks. She had given them all of the information that she could on the camps in the area, including the one that her father, Gerald Kaiser, had worked at. This had helped the five a great deal in their planning. However, they still didn't fully know the extent of the events of their visit.

A problem that troubled the Charbonneauxs and Annika alike was the new general and his family that had moved in to a mansion on the east side of the concentration camp. The new general was supposed to drop by within the first two weeks of his arrival to "check" on Annika, though the girl was dreading it greatly. Despite working at the house for their stay, the Charbonneauxs were going to have to act like her servants, and she was going to have to treat them as such. The days clicked down, each one bringing more suspense. Finally, on September 12th, Marcel Becker decided to drop on by.

There was a sharp ring of the doorbell, and the six instantly knew who it was: the new Nazi general of Monowitz. They all jumped up, and Annika instructed Emile to get the door, treating him as if he was her servant. And he knew to act along; after all, they knew that this would come, and they were just acting. And besides, he also knew that maybe answering the door to the general would give him a good way to size the man up.

Emile walked out into the hallway and to the door, while his wife, brother, sister-in-law, and adopted son scattered to go find work to do. Annika remained in the sitting room, popping open a book, and made it appear as if she had been reading the whole morning.

Finally, Emile tugged the door open and glanced at the figures outside. There was more than one, and immediately, he knew that the general had brought his entire family. The figure in the front was obviously the commander. There was a woman standing next to him who had to of been his wife. Many teenagers stood behind him, and a little boy was holding onto the woman's hand. Another woman stood in back of the kids, and was dressed to nicely to be a servant, so she must have been a sister of Marcel's, maybe a mother to one of the children.

Emile dipped his head, as if in respect, but it was taking all of his will not to scream at or attack the horrible man. "The new general, I assume, sir?" He adopted a fake, yet convincing, Polish accent.

"Yes . . . and who are you?" The Nazi asked, his voice already condescending even though he didn't even know Emile's name – or, well, fake name.

"Jozef Winski, sir," Emile replied, his head still dipped, though he was secretly restraining himself from sounding sarcastic. "I'm a servant here."

"Ah, of course, now if you would step aside," the Nazi said, though it basically sounded like an order. Just as Emile did so, Annika walked into the hallway, appearing elegant. She smiled gently at the general as she strode toward him, though it took almost all of her might to do so.

"Hello, general," she greeted as she walked up to him, holding out a hand. "I'm Annika Kaiser."

"Hello, I'm Marcel Becker," Marcel replied, shaking her outstretched hand. "Excuse me, but . . . I didn't expect you to be so young."

Annika raised an eyebrow, dropping her arm to her side. "You did know that I was seventeen, didn't you? That is almost the age of an adult. For what I've been through, I could be an adult." And that wasn't a lie. The experiences she had had while in Poland had morphed her from a teenage girl into a young woman.

Marcel nodded as he stepped into the foyer, his family right behind him. "Yes, of course, forgive me." He sighed. "Your father, he must have been a noble man if he died for the _Fuhrer_ . . . though I'm sorry for your loss."

Annika nodded curtly, appearing indifferent to Marcel's "sympathy". After all, he was Nazi. He probably wasn't sympathetic to anyone but himself and his family. And, he hadn't even known her father. She couldn't take it as straightforward sympathy.

"Yes, well . . . he was an honorable man, lived that way and died that way," Annika replied, then glanced over at Emile. "Jozef, go get Zofia and Beata and prepare lunch for my guests and I, please." Emile nodded and started to walk away, but Marcel's wife, a beautiful Italian woman with long, black hair, spoke up.

"Wait! We brought these." She handed a basket out to Annika, who took it and examined the contents. Bread and pastries. She couldn't help but smile a little bit. Hey, as long as you were pretending to be allies with the enemy, and they didn't know it, free food was good. She handed the basket to Emile, telling him to warm up the loaves of bread along with their lunch. He nodded and walked away, to find his wife and sister-in-law, and possibly son and brother, too.

"Follow me to the sitting room and we can get . . . acquainted," Annika said, though she really didn't want to "get acquainted" with the family in the first place. She led them to the sitting room, and sat down on one of the chairs. The Beckers took up the other chairs and couches.

"So, you all know that my name is Annika . . ." Annika began, shifting somewhat nervously in her seat. "So . . . what are all of your names?" She glanced up at the family.

"Well, you obviously know Marcel's name . . ." Marcel's wife, the Italian woman, gushed. "I'm his wife, Tabitha. And this is our son, Tony." She smiled and patted the little boy's head.

Annika dipped her head with a slight, forced smile. "Nice to meet you." She looked around at the teenagers.

"I'm Julian, the general's son," a tall boy looking to be just a year or so younger then Annika, told her proudly. Despite not being much younger than her, Julian was definitely not as grown up. He was undoubtedly crueler, though, it showed just by the arrogance in his voice. Julian was almost like a miniature version of his father, just with different eye and hair colors.

"I'm Rose, the general's daughter," a girl to Julian's right said. She looked to have more innocence than her brother, like another sheltered child. Maybe cold and heartless on the outside, but lost on the inside. Possibly. Or she just listened to whatever her papa and brother said.

"Marc . . . the general's other son . . . Rose's twin," a boy sitting next to Rose replied.

"Rebekka . . . the general's niece," a girl wit short, curly red hair that was sitting on one of the other couches informed Annika.

"And I'm Lillian . . . Rebekka's mother and Marcel's sister," the woman sitting beside Rebekka said casually. It really was amazing how much they looked alike, and the only difference that Annika could distinct between the mother and daughter was that Lillian's hair was lighter, and definitely had more brown in it.

"Aly . . . his niece," the last girl said, without any further explanation.

"Well . . . it's nice to meet you all," Annika said with another forced smile.

There was an awkward silence for a minute, before Tabitha asked, somewhat hesitantly, "So . . . how have you been fairing alone, without your father, Annika?"

Annika shrugged lightly. "Pretty well, actually . . . I'm not a child anymore."

Marcel cocked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, while Julian said, "You must only be a year or so older than me. Of course you're still a kid."

"No, I'm not," Annika replied, gazing at him with a slight scowl. "I've been through more than you can imagine."

There was a tense silence, and Julian asked, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Annika shook her head, holding his gaze for a few seconds. She then glanced at the floor. "Never mind."

More minutes passed in silence, and Annika was glad when Emile appeared in the room to break it. "Ma'am . . . lunch is ready."

"Well . . . that was fast," Tabitha said with a grin as she stood up, taking little Tony's hand. Her husband, the rest of the kids, and Lillian followed suit. They trailed behind Annika out of the door, as she followed Emile back to the dining room.

Annika entered the dining room and strode to the end of the table, sitting in the seat that her father would have usually sat in. She told her guests to sit anywhere that pleased them. Tabitha ended up sitting on one side of her, Marcel next to her, and little Tony next to him. Rose and Marc sat on his other side. Lillian sat at Annika's right side on the opposite end of the table, and her daughter Rebekka sat next to her. Aly sat down next to Rebekka, and Julian sat down next to her.

Lisette and Denise, who were under the aliases of Zofia Winski and Beata Zagata, walked into the room and set covered dishes down on it. They removed the tops at nearly the same time, and Lisette put a soup ladle in hers, while Denise placed a large spoon on hers. They disappeared back into the kitchen, but seconds later, Lisette walked back into the dining room and placed the trey with the bread at the end of the table nearest to Annika. She disappeared yet again, and Denise took her place, offering wine to the adults. Emile came in and started to pour milk into the kids' glasses.

"Wow . . . very efficient servants," Marcel noted as he gave Emile and Denise a look over. They both tried to avoid eye contact with him.

Annika nodded, trying not to show that she was slightly uncomfortable with referring to them as 'servants'. "Yes, they are the best of the best . . ."

"Where did you find them?" Marcel asked curiously.

Annika kept her face straight. "Warsaw." She offered no other explanations.

"Ah, that's nice . . ." Marcel mused, looking Lisette over thoughtfully as she walked in again and stood by the edge of the dining room, apparently waiting for further orders.

"You should get some of those, instead of those filthy Jews that work at our house, Father," Julian spoke up, glancing at Emile as he filled his glass with milk. "They're cleaner and much faster."

All four of the secret Resistance members in the room – Annika, Emile, Lisette, and Denise – felt a pang in their hearts. Then they felt their hearts get a bit heavy. Emile stiffened slightly and continued on to Aly to fill her glass, though his tenseness went unseen.

"You have Jews working in your house?" Annika asked after a silence that was so awkward she knew it probably shouldn't have been present.

Marcel nodded. "Why yes, of course. Didn't your father?"

Annika nodded, almost scowling at the fact that he had. She had seen them before. She knew the way that they were treated, inside of the camp and out.

"Yes, he did," she replied calmly. "But . . . I decided to get more efficient help after he died. We had other servants, too, but . . . they weren't quite good enough." She cast a glance to Emile and he nodded slightly, approving.

"Ah, I see . . ." Marcel said with a nod. "Well, the Jews that work at our house seem to be fine so far. They get punished if they don't." Again, the four Resistance workers concealed grimaces.

"How so?" Annika asked, pretending that it was a light conversation. She knew that Emile, Lisette, and Denise would definitely like to hear how the top commander at Monowitz treated his prisoners.

"How do they get punished?" Marcel asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Annika nodded. "Yes . . . well, I meant: how do you run them?"

"Oh, well, with a firm hand," Marcel told her. "I tell them what to do and how to do it, and if they don't do it right, I tell them to consequences." He shrugged as if it was a perfectly normal and mild conversation topic.

Annika nodded. "That is . . . good . . ." It almost hurt her to say it, but she knew that she had to keep her act up. Mainly because it actually seemed to be working.

Marcel nodded. "Yes, very . . . cheap labor, I say." He smiled as he spooned salad onto his plate. "Cheaper than hiring servants."

"They don't ask for much," Annika said, sending glances at Emile, Lisette, and Denise, who were stationed at the sides of the room, waiting for the meal to be done so that they could clean it up.

"They don't?" Marcel inquired, casting a glance to the three 'servants'. "Maybe I should have found servants like them . . ."

"Well, you know the state of Warsaw right now, Mr. Becker, it is not wise to even go close to the city," Annika warned, stating one of the few honest things she had said all night

Marcel nodded. "Oh, I know that . . . I am a general, after all."

The table fell silent again as its occupants packed food onto their plates and spooned soup into their bowls. Tabitha helped Tony with his food, giving him small portions of each, and the tiniest piece of bread on the platter. Annika watched them all with vague interest as she scooped food onto her plate and into her bowl. She wondered how they could eat in peace with slaves standing around them at their house, in place of paid servants. It would have made her sick to do so, seeing their hungry faces and thin bodies compared to the healthy ones of herself and the people around her. It just wasn't right, and she knew it.

"So . . . what do you like to do?" Tabitha questioned, looking up at Annika when she had all of the food that she needed on her plate.

Annika blinked and looked up at her. "Pardon me, ma'am?"

"As in hobbies," Tabitha replied, raising a delicate eyebrow.

"Oh, yes, of course . . ." Annika said quietly with a slightly nervous laugh. First one that afternoon. That wasn't good. "Well . . . not much, there is not much to do. I like to read, go outside . . . sometimes I go down to the river."

"The river?" Rose inquired, smiling. She looked slightly interested.

Annika nodded. "It's more like a creek, but it's about half a mile away . . . I walk down their sometimes and wade in the river . . ." She bit her lip, knowing that she should make a kind offer. "Maybe I can take you kids down there sometime. I think you would enjoy it." She glanced over at the general, wondering what he would say to that.

Marcel shrugged. "As long as they'll be safe, I'm fine with it."

Annika felt the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile. That might just work to her advantage. Just maybe. "Well . . . I would be delighted to take them anytime that they want to come."

"How about next Friday?" Tabitha inquired. "We are quite busy with other things at the moment . . ."

"Alright, next Friday sounds fine," Annika said, and it was perfectly fine with her. It would give her more time to plan what she might want to ask the kids. But then again . . . what things could they possibly be 'busy' with? They should have already unpacked, they had been at the house for a week or so . . . it made her a tiny bit suspicious, though she knew she probably had nothing to be suspicious of. The only one she should have been skeptical of was Marcel, because in retrospect, his children, sister, wife, and nieces were powerless against even the smallest branch of the Resistance.

"Good," Tabitha said with a smile, taking a bite of her bread.

The meal went by with side conversations. Annika took turns talking with nearly each member of the general's family that was present at the table, and learned quite a few things about them. Unfortunately, the facts about the family probably wouldn't help in the long run. However, she'd have to keep them in mind just in case they did.

Finally, after the meal was over, light chatter continued, and Lisette, Denise, and Emile began to clear the table. They took all of the plates inside and filled the glasses halfway up with wine and milk again, then Lisette brought out a platter of pastries that Annika had bought when she was in town last. She set them down on the table, and the occupants looked on with interest.

"Well . . . eat up," Annika said, grabbing one of the pastries from the platter. "Dessert. I bought them at a small bakery in town, they're very delicious."

Julian grabbed one off the plate and took a bite of it. "Wow . . . these _are_ good!" He grinned, and Annika couldn't help but smile a bit back at him. Still a kid, on the inside . . . still a kid, though she wondered if his opinions would ever change.

"Maybe I order some from town," Tabitha said after she also took one and took a bite. "What's the name of the bakery?"

Annika replied with the place that she had bought the treats at, while everyone else took one off of the platter and began to eat. Once every pastry was gone, Lisette took the plate back into the kitchen.  
>After a few minutes of conversations only by Julian, Rose, and Marc, Marcel asked Annika softly, "Do you know any of the details of your father's death?"<p>

Annika stiffened slightly. "No. They never found the killer."

"But I heard you found the body?" Marcel inquired.

"Yes," Annika said, forcing herself to remain polite. "But I did not see who killed him." That was partly a lie . . . she had seen him. Well, his shadow. Which was close enough, but had no meaning to it. The killer was a young man, and that was all she knew. She didn't know who he was.

"Oh, well . . ." Marcel was going to ask her another question, but Tabitha put her arm on his. When he looked back at her, she shook her head. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Never mind."

Annika arched an eyebrow, but nodded. "Alright . . . was there anything else you wanted, or . . . ?"

"No, I think we will make our leave, I have duties to attend to," Marcel said with a slight nod as he stood up from the table.

Annika nodded and stood up as well. "Alright, I'll show you back to the door . . ." She began to lead the way out of the dining room and back to the front door.

When they reached the door, Marcel said, in the most polite voice that he could probably muster, "Thank you for having us."

Annika nodded as she opened the front door. "You are welcome . . . it was a pleasure." The last words were forced, but hopefully it didn't seem that way. Marcel nodded, apparently taking the statement as fact, and exited the house. Tabitha and Tony exited after him, the woman shaking Annika's hand and thanking her before leaving. Julian, Rose, Marc, Rebekka, and Aly left with simple "goodbyes", and Lillian smiled at Annika and gave a genuinely polite "thank you" as she walked past.

Once they were outside and down the steps, Annika waved at them one last time, and told them they were delightful company, and to come again, just for affect. Then, she slowly closed the door, and when she heard it click, she sighed heavily and locked it. So. She had gotten through that, and it had been pretty hard to act kind and polite the whole time. But she had done it. That was enough to make her feel proud of herself.

Annika walked back to the dining room, and glanced around, then, seeing as no one was there, walked into the kitchen. She spotted Emile, Luc, Lisette, Denise, and Remy all sitting around small kitchen table that usually was a place for the servants to eat their meals. She strode up to them and sat down at the last available seat.

"So . . . what do you think?" She asked, glancing from Emile, to Lisette, to Denise.

"Well, for starters . . . he seems really . . arrogant," Denise said carefully.

"Like that's a big surprise," Emile said with a roll of his eyes.

Lisette sighed. "Yes, well . . . he's cocky, too. Like he still thinks the Axis is winning the war." It was her turn to roll her eyes. "Which is false. The Allies have taken back France, our proud country, and are making their way farther into Europe . . . the Russians are also advancing from the east."

Annika nodded. "Yes . . . but what else did you think of the new general . . . Marcel Becker?"

Emile shrugged. "Well, I think that . . . I mean . . . what are we going to use this information for?"

"For the Resistance, of course," Annika said with a nod. "Other Resistance members are coming, did I . . . tell you?"

Emile blinked and shrugged. "I knew they were coming."

"Wait . . . it's the twelfth, isn't it?" Annika asked, her eyes widening.

Emile nodded. "Yes . .. why?"

"Two of them were supposed to come today!" Annika said, biting her lip. "Oh, no . . . I completely forgot! I'm so glad they didn't come while the general was here . . ." She frowned slightly and rubbed her hands together. "I can't believe I forgot that they were coming . . ."

"Wait, aren't the other Resistance members already staying in the town?" Emile asked, raising an eyebrow. "Some of them arrived not to long ago or are arriving shortly . . . some have been in Auschwitz for years or were even there before the war started."

Annika nodded. "Yes, most of them are staying in the town and they will only come to meetings, but these two are like you five . . . we just have to keep them a bit more well hidden. Inside . . . they'll sleep in the secret room I have in the basement, just in case . . ."

"What's so special about them that they cannot pretend they are servants, like us?" Remy inquired, cocking an eyebrow.

"Well . . . for one, I already have five 'servants'," Annika said, frowning slightly. "I think seven will be a little bit suspicious . . . and, well . . . unlike you guys, they will have a hard time pulling off being Polish. You guys already had a little experience, but . . . these two . . ."

Emile leaned forward, looking slightly intrigued. "Yes?"

"They're Irish," Annika said, biting her lip as she looked at their stunned reactions.

"Irish? But . . . the Irish are neutral in the war . . ." Denise said, looking somewhat shocked.

"Well . . . they were living in Poland when it was attacked by the Germans . . ." Annika said, biting her lip. "It is a long, complicated story, maybe I should let them tell you when they arrive?"

"And . . . who are they, if I might ask?" Emile asked curiously.

"Their names are Brian and Sean O'Cathain," Annika told them with a nod. "They're a father and son."

"How old is the son?" Emile questioned.

Annika pursed her lips. "Thirteen."

The five other Resistance members at the table looked shocked.

"_Thirteen_?" Lisette asked, as if she hadn't heard Annika's answer right the first time.

Annika nodded. "Yes. Thirteen."

"That's younger than Remy . . ." Luc mused, sending a glance toward his teenaged nephew.

"But I was helping the Resistance when I was thirteen," Remy said, smiling proudly.

"Yes, but . . . nothing near as dangerous as what we are dealing with now," Emile told him gravely, looking solemn. "I'm worried that the kid is too young . . ."

"Two years," Remy said, frowning slightly. "Only two years . . . how does that make a difference?"

"When you're young, it can make a _huge_ difference," Lisette replied seriously, sending him a glance. "I'm not even sure if I want you to be a part of this . . ."

Remy was about to say something, but then Annika spoke up. "Why don't we just talk about this when they get here, alright?"

The other members of the group nodded silently, then began to go about other business.

* * *

><p>A few hours passed before the two Irish citizens arrived. Annika was in the sitting room, yet again reading a book. Remy was on the floor a few feet away from her, drawing a cartoon, like those seen in newspapers, on an old piece of paper. Lisette and Denise were in the kitchen cooking, while Luc and Emile were raking leaves out in the backyard.<p>

Annika immediately stood up when she heard the doorbell ring, and went to answer the door. Remy followed her cautiously, stopping at the open door to the sitting room. He peeked out from there, just in case it was somebody besides one of their allies. When Annika opened the door and rushed the two people that were on the porch inside, Remy stepped into view and walked over to them.

"Are you Brian and Sean?" He inquired when he got close enough to them, extending a hand to the man that was standing there. Only too late did he realize that he was speaking in French. He bit his lip, wondering if the two were actually not Resistance members at all, or if they could speak French. Surprisingly, the man shook his hand, and spoke to him in French.

"That we are," he said as he shook the teenager's hand. "I'm Brian O'Cathain, and this is my son, Sean." His voice was thickly accented in Irish, and Remy couldn't help but smile a little. It was a little bit hard to understand, but Remy was sure that he would get used to it.

Then, Remy looked down at Sean, and blinked. The boy was shorter than he was – not _much_ shorter, but enough so that Remy felt tall around him. He definitely had features of a younger kid, a kid that was probably entering the early stages of puberty. His face and body were slightly chubby, though not overwhelmingly so, and his cheeks were cherubic and round. He had sparkling green eyes and bright orange hair. The boy, Sean, looked almost exactly liked a younger version of his dad, except for the hair color, and the shape of the eyes. Brian's hair was more of a strawberry-blond, and his eyes had more of a narrow shape, while Sean's were rounder.

"And you're Sean?" Remy asked, smiling pleasantly, but the boy just blinked up at him.

"Oh, Sean doesn't speak French . . ." Brian explained, biting his lip. "Just English, Polish, and a little bit of German and Russian . . . I'm gifted in many languages, I'm trying to teach him . . ."

"Oh, well . . . I can speak a bit of Polish, and I'm fluent in English," Remy said with a smile. He quickly switched to English. "My father taught me."

Brian smiled a bit, while Sean tilted his head. "Your father taught you what?"

"How to speak English," Remy replied with a grin.

"Oh . . . that's neat," Sean said with a small smile.

Remy nodded. "Yes . . . it is. Now . . ." He glanced at Annika. "_What_ now?"

"I suppose we have a bit of storytelling to do . . . if Brian and Sean are up for it," Annika said, speaking in English, while Brian and Sean glanced over at her.

"Yes, we're willing to," Brian said, while Sean simply nodded. "After all . . . how would you learn to trust us if we weren't?"

Remy grinned as they started down the hallway. "You are beginning to sound a bit like my father."

"Is that a good thing?" Brian asked with a small smile.

Remy nodded. "Yes." He grinned.

When the four entered the kitchen, Lisette and Denise were waiting. They were still baking, though both of them looked happy to see the four, and Lisette was delighted to go and fetch Emile and Luc from the backyard, where they were still raking leaves in the setting sun.

When the five Charbonneauxs, Annika, Brian, and Sean were all seated around the small kitchen table, Brian began to tell his and Sean's story.

"We were living in Poland in 1939, when the Germans invaded," Brian said with a sigh. "Sean and I had moved there just a few months early, from a town in Ireland. We moved to take care of my mother. She was half Polish, and after my father died, she moved back to the town where she had grown up for the first eight years of her life." He paused, then continued. "Unfortunately, she fell ill five years ago and Sean and I had to move here, to Poland, to take care of her. The Germans invaded Poland only a few months later, though we were a bit closer to the east, a bit closer to Russia, when they attacked. They didn't come after us, as we weren't Jewish Poles, we were ethnically Irish Catholics, but had a right to live in Poland." He sighed. "My mother died about two years ago, in August 1942, and so Sean and I moved to Warsaw. We stayed there, and I became involved in the Polish Resistance to help the German oppression, while I also doubled as a journalist." He sighed. "Unfortunately, the Nazis are aware of my actions in the Warsaw Uprising, and so they came after my son and I, and we only just managed to escape to the countryside. One of my friends in the Resistance helped me get here, telling me that I would be safe." He cocked an eyebrow. "I believed him. And so . . . here I am."

"Wow . . ." Remy said, blinking. "That's . . . wow."

Brian smirked a tiny bit. "Aye. Wow."

"We . . . your friend was right," Annika said with a nod. "I already have a room set up for you and your son in the basement. Just in case any Nazis come snooping around. It is a secret room, it will hide you very well."

Brian nodded appreciatively. "Thank you . . . really, thank you for taking us in, you really have no idea what it means . . . we were going to be taken in by the Germans . . . and I fear to know what that would have meant." He said the last words very gravely, and they all dipped their heads a bit, only being able to imagine what kind of things might have awaited Sean and Brian if they had been captured. None of the options were good.

"We all do," Annika said quietly with a small nod. "We all fear what will happen if they ever catch any of us."

Emile nodded. "Too true."

Silence rang around the table for several minutes, before Lisette spoke up, "Should we get to making dinner?"

Annika nodded, standing up and offering Lisette a smile. "Yes . . . I think I'll help you this time, I could learn a few things about cooking." Her smiled turned to one that was almost sheepish. She glanced over at Remy. "You know where the secret room is, right?"

"Yes," Remy replied with a nod.

"Then why don't you show it to them?" Annika asked.

Remy stood up with a grin and nodded. "But of course!" He glanced at Sean and Brian, who stood up as well, fingering their bags. "Just follow me, laddies." He winked at the use of "Irish speak" and grinned, then began to lead them out of the kitchen, and down to the secret room, which would be there lives for the next few months.


End file.
